Something You Don't Want To Know
by HiM'e'iTSu
Summary: There was an annoyed Sherlock, a suspicious Mycroft Holmes and an inconspicuous DI Lestrade. All in all it was the day when John Watson regretted his insistence to find out the truth. Lestrade/Mycroft


**A/N:** I have no idea what's the point of this story. If it even has one…

**Beta:**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles

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><p><em>There was an annoyed Sherlock, a suspicious Mycroft Holmes and an inconspicuous DI Lestrade. All in all it was the day when John Watson regretted his insistence to find out the truth.<em>

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><p><em><strong>Something You Don't Want To Know<strong>_

"Don't you think that Mycroft appears at the crime scene more often than he should?"

"Mycroft should not appear here at all," Sherlock replied distractedly.

The exasperated but somewhat reconciled glance of Sally Donavan, caught only by John as his companion was purposefully looking the other way, told him that it was a statement she wasn't going to challenge. Ignoring both of them, John continued his musings.

"I mean, in the past he only came when the case was exceptionally interesting. But now he appears almost every time. I understand that he's worried about you," he ignored the snort as well. "Still, it's not a reason to rush to the crime scene for every new case you take. It's too much…"

"John, I try very hard but still fail to see your point here." Sherlock replied. He wasn't being snarky as he had just successfully solved a complicated mystery and was in the mood for an almost-pleasant conversation.

"It's just…strange. Don't you think so?"

"I think you should ask him all those questions, not me. Definitely not me." This was said with just a bit of disdain. Sherlock's peace was slowly been broken by an approaching Mycroft Holmes.

"Aren't you suspicious?" John asked in a whisper.

"Suspicious of what?" Sherlock asked in return, incredibility in his voice too loud for John's liking. And now Mycroft was staring at them through narrowed eyes. Seeing how he was just two steps away from them it was hard to ignore – even by John who praised himself on being a master of ignorance. You learned quickly how not to notice most of the things surrounding you went you lived with Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm surprised, Sherlock. I considered this case too low for your standards. I mean, it's so easy I could have figured it out from my office just by reading the reports." The mocking voice of Mycroft Holmes was nothing but familiar but still riled up the younger brother just the same.

"Not my fault that the police are absolutely useless these days," Sherlock countered. As John expected he also stepped closer to his brother – just like always – probably in a futile attempt to intimidate him. The doctor had to give him credit though, it might have been very intimidating, with his tall figure looming over the interlocutor, if not for the unfortunate fact that no matter how ridiculously tall Sherlock was, Mycroft still had a few inches over him. That way the only intimidating thing about the gesture was probably a rude invasion of personal space. "Why are you here?"

At the question John's interest returned with a full force. He studied Mycroft's guarded face, gauging his reaction, waiting for the smallest frown or a twitch of lips to betray the man's thoughts. Unfortunately there was none, but John still didn't believe his words when Mycroft replied naturally:

"The same reason I always visit you. My constant worry about my little brother's well-being."

A scoff and a frown was his only answer. John had to admit that Sherlock was very good with disdainful stares, even when they were directed upwards. Alas the older Holmes blocked it with an icy stare of his own, practiced beyond perfection, always at the ready whenever he needed to bring his enemy down. It was impressive and very efficient, especially when paired up with the 'little brother' reference. Oh, it worked wonderfully – Sherlock was practically seething, while Mycroft glowed under his brother's glares.

"John, we are leaving," the detective snarled at the same time as the trio was joined by Lestrade.

"Am I intruding on your pleasant conversation?" He asked, sarcasm in his words masked so it sounded almost like he actually believed that the Holmes brothers could have anything resembling a pleasant conversation.

John laughed quietly, so used to their interaction, but sobered quickly and leaned forward to put his hand on Sherlock's forearm placating.

"Not intruding at all," Mycroft smiled, bodily turning to the DI, seemingly forgetting everything about his brother for a moment.

A wonderful ability to switch from one subject to another, John registered nonchalantly, while his grip on Sherlock tightened – a weak attempt to restrain his friend.

"Good," Lestrade replied. "Sherlock, I need to question you."

"Later. We are leaving now." And he used John's hand holding him to his advantage to drag the doctor away.

"Sherlock!"

He ignored Lestrade's frustrated call, storming off with John in tow. The doctor threw them a final glance and mouthed 'Goodbye' before turning around and yanking his hand from the tight grip.

"There was no need to be so violent," he lamented, massaging his wrist.

"Why does he insist on being so bloody infuriating all the time?" angry words were barely heard over the sound of traffic and chatter of the passers-by. John caught some pretty rude adjectives in Sherlock's ranting as the other man rushed away from the sidewalk, almost getting run over by a car in his haste to get a cab. Strangely the attempt was successful and a small black car stopped right in front of him. The detective mercilessly yanked the door open, flopping on the backseat. By the time John joined him in the car most of the anger had evaporated, leaving him alone with a sulking Sherlock; he wasn't sure which alternative was better for his mental health. But then, John concluded, if he wanted to keep his sanity, he should have never agreed to move in to 221B Baker Street.

"Lestrade will still chase you tomorrow. For questioning."

The statement was pointedly ignored and wasn't even deigned with a glance or a glare, which in the current situation was probably the same thing.

"You brilliantly cracked the case," John decided on some flattery to relieve the tension. From the corner of his eyes he noticed how Sherlock's posture straightened, his shoulders relaxing and chin flying up as if to say 'Of course'. Or maybe he just heard Sherlock mutter it under his breath.

"That was great, you know. That thing with the pencils and pens…"

"Are you complimenting me or the criminal?"

"I'm trying to say that it was very clever of you to notice it."

"No, John, it was absolutely natural for me to catch it. It was just stupid of everyone else not to pay attention to details."

John sighed dejectedly, an exaggerated long and loud sigh for Sherlock to notice. When he looked away from the consulting detective to the road ahead he could swear he saw how the cabbie's shoulders shook as if he was laughing silently. Oh, well, he probably was. It was odd how people found their interaction funny – at least those who had never had a misfortune to be in an argument with Sherlock Holmes; he just crushes everyone with his logic and deductions, even when he is not right.

Deciding that enough awkward silence had passed and he could press a matter that actually interested him, John asked tentatively:

"Don't you think there might be something going on between your brother and Lestrade?" Yes, tentatively but pretty boldly.

"John, that's disgusting." Came the clipped reply.

"I never took you for a homophobe." John commented, slight undertone of disapproval making itself known.

"The same sex relationship would not be disgusting." Sherlock explained. With a slight shudder he continued. "But the idea of my brother with _anyone_ is. Please refrain from giving me any mental images that might scar me for life."

"Oh, I get it. Since he is your brother and all…"

"Since he is Mycroft and all. It has nothing to do with him being my brother – that's just an added inconvenience."

"Why are you always so spiteful to him? He is your sibling after all." John commented, tired of the constant fighting between the Holmes brothers. Mycroft was also adding his fair share of resentment into their relationship, but it was Sherlock who acted unnecessarily childish. He waited for the reaction with trepidation.

"John," Sherlock suddenly said conversationally, his tone pleasant like he was inquiring about the weather. "How is Harry doing?"

That, the doctor noted, was a very efficient way to make him drop the subject. Also very underhanded.

"But if you absolutely have to know," Sherlock muttered, glancing at his friend for a brief moment. "I have irrefutable proof that Mycroft is dating someone."

At John's raised eyebrows and a curious gaze he admitted unwillingly:

"I stole his phone. Unfortunately, it was the one that he uses strictly for personal business. Not even the smallest government secret in there." There was a pout and a frown and John thought that, yes, it was probably frustrating to spend so much energy and time on creating a plan for how to steal your brother's phone only to find plain boring love texts in there…

"Do you still have it?" He asked casually, his eyes downcast and glued to his hand playing with the hem of his jacket.

"No, I threw it in the river."

"A little bit too drastic, don't you think?"

"Of course not. What, did you want to see it?" Sherlock asked, as his head turned and blue eyes inspected John.

"No. Why would I?" John hurried to reassure him. "Just curious. You know, Mycroft and Lestrade…they are suspicious."

"They are just both twisted, one less than the other, but still twisted." That probably was a conclusion drawn from the fact that they did everything to make Sherlock's life difficult, at least that's what the consulting detective decided.

"Which means they have something in common," John pointed out.

"It means nothing," Sherlock scoffed.

Another five minutes of silence, thankfully not awkward this time and John couldn't help but ask:

"And what's Mycroft's lover's name?"

Sherlock glared at him, obviously unhappy with the subject been brought up yet again.

"I'll tell you, and then we forget about this for good." After a nod from the other man, he said. "Gregory."

"Oh, fine," that's all John could say because now that he got the information he had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Sherlock had already turned away from him, deeming the subject closed once and for all.

"And what's Lestrade's name?"

"Lestrade?" Sherlock stated sarcastically.

"First name."

"I don't know and, frankly, I don't care."

"Don't know?" Maybe it was said a little bit too loud, but John could do nothing to contain the disbelief in his voice. "But you've been working with him for almost five years."

"This knowledge holds no practical importance to me."

A sigh. "Fine. Doesn't matter," John gave up.

It also didn't matter that a week after that he learned that DI Lestrade's name actually _was_ Gregory, as Sally Donavan unwillingly admitted all the while eyeing him with suspicion, as if he was going to use this information against her boss. It escaped his comprehension how that could happen; it was just a name after all. Also John wasn't surprised at all when the next day Mycroft happily announced to Sherlock's scowling face that, yes, he was dating _Gregory _Lestrade, a man the consulting detective found as annoying as his brother. John didn't even get the satisfaction of gloating when he got to say to Sherlock 'I told you so' right after Mycroft and Lestrade were out of the earshot. No, none at all.

And all that because three days prior he, led by his indefatigable curiosity, stumbled upon something he truly wished he had never seen. That being Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade, alone together in a narrow alley where the light of the lamppost didn't quite reach, right around the corner from the crime scene. The older Holmes pressed to the wall by his lover – yes, John could see it clearly now – so there was no space left between their bodies, head thrown back, fingers of one hand clawing through greying hair while the other disappeared under the folds of Lestrade's jacket; John's short-circuiting mind was very thankful for that obstacle. Unfortunately he could still see clearly as Lestrade's hands gripped the other man's hipbones tightly, crushing them together while his lips devoured Mycroft's neck.

John just stood there, dumbstruck, cursing Sherlock for dashing away alone and thus leading John to look for him and coming across the two lovers. It's a good thing it happened now and not later, John's mind registered until the next second he realized that his life would be worse, much worse, than a living hell if either of the two men noticed him there.

Quickly and quietly, John retreated. He ignored Sherlock, who, by the time he returned, was back at the crime scene and inquiring about the doctor's absence. John only glared at him, treating him to cold ignorance for the rest of the week. The only thing that cheered him up was the look on Sherlock's face after Mycroft's happy announcement.

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><p><strong>AN: **I hope you liked this small story. If you did, please do leave me a review:)


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